Myrtle's Death Day Surprise
by thegoodwitchofdarkmagic
Summary: Moaning Myrtle thought it was going to be just another miserable death day. That all changed when stranger with a clock and a question came to her bathroom . AU
1. Happy Death Day!

**Disclaimer:I don't own Harry Potter or making any money off this.**

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Chapter 1

_The strongest of all warriors are these two- Time and Patience._

_- Leo Tolstoi_

" What is that?" Myrtle inquired, eyeing the first year and her cake with suspicion.

The girl's smile disappeared. "I made this cake for your Death Day. It is your death day, right?" the girl said worriedly. "I wrote to my uncle and he told me that you died sometime in May. So I did some research and I concluded you died on May nineteenth."

Myrtle sniffed. "I did die on this day. You don't have to rub it in. I know you're here just to gloat about how you're still alive and me-me-"

"Please don't cry, Myrtle! I thought the cake would-"

"Cheer me up?! Why would it? I'm a ghost and ghosts can't eat cake!" Myrtle wailed. The upset ghost glided quickly to her stall, tears running down her checks. Taking her favorite spot in the tiny wooden cubicle, Myrtle wept into her hands. Before the ghost could get into a good, hard cry, another sob interrupted her. Ghostly tears still falling from her eyes, Myrtle peeked her head out.

Myrtle was surprised to find the girl was still here. She was biting her lip, trying to fight back tears, but they were escaping and dripping onto the cake. Myrtle wiped her face with the back of her hand and floated over to the girl.

"Don't cry, Rosie. I really appreciate the thought. I'm just not use to people being nice to me so I took it the wrong way." Instead reassuring Rose, Myrtle's words broked the young witch's control. Rose started to cry, hands shaking so bad that the cake was in danger of falling off it's plate. Myrtle sighed. She wasn't any good at comforting people.

"How did you make the cake, Rose ?" Myrtle asked. The ghost prayed that her question would distract Rose from being sad.

"The-the elves helped me make-make-make it," Rose hiccupped.

"Really?"

"Yeah." Rose gave Myrtle a small, watery smile.

"How about you place your cake on one of the sinks and get out of here. You don't want to get in trouble for being out after curfew because you were visiting a mean, hopeless ghost," Myrtle said, returning Rose's smile with a somber one.

"You're not mean, Myrtle! You're really nice," Rose exclaimed. "People just don't notice." Rose carefully sat her cake down and with a wave, she ran out of the bathroom.

Myrtle shook her head in wonder. The girl must be out of her mind if she believed that Myrtle was nice. She was Moaning Myrtle; a spineless crybaby of a ghost who haunted a bathroom for Merlin's sakes! How pathetic was that? Rose really needed to find someone, preferably a living person, to talk to. The ghost should chase off the first year the next time she came to the bathroom.

"Don't kid yourself, Myrtle. You like having Rose around," Myrtle mumbled. Myrtle could never figure out why she liked Rose so much. In general, she was very antisocial. Myrtle believed every kind action was only cover for a person's true, cruel motive and she took offense at the silliest things. So it shocked the ghost how attached she was to Rose. Thinking about it, Myrtle decided the reason that she let Rose into her miserable afterlife was she could relate to the girl. The poor thing was always getting picked on by a girl named Sally Carson and her cronies.

It was due to Rose's tormentors that Myrtle met the smart red head. The first year ran into Myrtle's bathroom by chance trying to escape the group of girls. Myrtle didn't know why she protected Rose that day. When the girls came in looking for Rose, they were greeted by a huge wave of stale toilet water. From that day on, Rose came to see Myrtle every change she could. At first Myrtle found the young girl annoying. She would ask Myrtle a ton of questions or try to get her to talk. Rose's attempts of friendship were received with harsh words and numerous tantrums, but Rose never became discouraged. Rose would give Myrtle complements or would read from a book she brought with her until Myrtle had calm down.

Myrtle studied her gift. It was a pitiful baked good. The cake was unevenly frosted with runny, gray frosting. Chunks of unidentified cake were mixed into the frosting. On top of the cake, purple letters were all over the place. Some were teeny, others were massive, and a few were so swiggly that Myrtle could barely tell what the letters were supposed to be. The letters spelled out "Happy 75th Death Day." Myrtle past her hand through the cake. She could almost taste what she believed to be chocolate. The cake was the best Death Day present she ever got. It was also the only Death Day present she ever got.

Seventy-five years had past since her death. Myrtle was never bothered before by the days, weeks, and years that had past. She was already dead so being depressed about how long she had been dead for would be over kill. But now looking at the two numbers on her cake, she became gloomy. Not for herself, but for her family that she hadn't seen in over seven decades. They must all be dead by now. Myrtle wondered if her parents and sisters were unhappy in the afterlife because she was still here.

"I miss you so much," Myrtle whispered, crying once more. "I wished I hadn't ran into this stupid bathroom that night. If I just stood up to that damn Olive Hornby, I would had had a nice life."

"Is this the cake Rose gave you?" said a soft, cheerful voice behind Myrtle. Startled Myrtle felled out of the air and through her visitor. She caught herself before she disappeared into the floor and zoomed upward.

A teenage boy dressed in a pair of black jeans, a black sweater vest, and a grey short sleeved shirt stood under Myrtle. Myrtle figured the boy was as tall as one of the stalls. His brown hair was pulled back with a loose grey ribbon. The most unnerving thing about the stranger were his eyes. The pupils were wide and as round as a sickle and they were surrounded by a thin ring of dark green.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, crossing her arms. "Get out! This a girl's restroom."

"So this is Rosie's cake," the boy confirmed by himself. A gentle smile appeared on his face. "I always liked that little sweet heart."

Myrtle dove at the brown haired boy hoping to scare him off. When her body made contact with her victim, the most shocking thing happen. She couldn't faze through him! Just like a idiot, she slammed into him and bounced right off of him. The only good thing about the experience was she didn't have to suffer from the pain that would had occurred if she had nerves.

The boy tilted his head, giving Myrtle a goofy grin. "It's been a long time since someone tried to do that. Are you ok?" He asked

"Who the hell are you?" Myrtle said floating as high as she could before she exited the room via the ceiling. "What do you want?"

"I'm James and I'm here to wish you a happy death day," he said. He bowed dramatically at Myrtle.

"Well, you just did so get out of my bathroom, you creep!' Myrtle yelled pointing her finger towards the door.

Ignoring the enraged ghost, James sat down in the sink next to the forgotten cake. He clasped his hands in his lap and looked up at Myrtle. The teenage ghost noticed that James' pupils almost covered the whites of his eyes now.

"Myrtle, if you could be alive again, what would you do?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"If you could be alive again, what would you do?" he repeated in his soft, calm voice.

"None of you business," she snapped, floating downwards until she was at eye level with her unwelcomed guest.

"Please tell me. I promised I won't laugh or anything," James whined.

Myrtle sighed. "I don't know. I would want to see my family again. Hell, I would be happy just to received a letter from one of them." Myrtle put her hands behind her back and looked dreamily up at the ceiling. "I would get revenge on Olive. Nothing that would injury her too badly, but something to teach her a lesson. Then I would like to take a nice, long nap on a nice, soft bed…"

"So would you do anything to be alive again?" he questioned the daydreaming ghost.

A frown replaced Myrtle's grin. "Of course. Who wouldn't want to be alive again," she grumbled.

"Would you even take on your murderer?"

"You mean Tom Riddle," she said, giving James a sour look. "Sure, why not. Not only did he kill me and ruin my life, but he destroyed hundred other's lives. It's the least I could do for starting the bastard's career as a dark lord."

James nodded his head as if he was agreeing with what she had said. The teenage boy placed his hands together then lift the top one off. In his palm was some kind of box. James held it out for Myrtle to see it better.

It was an was an alarm clock. To be more precise, it was a 1941 Tick Clox alarm clock. It reminded Myrtle of the one her parents got her for her birthday. She was surprised her parents could find one because of the rationing of metal. This one had a beautiful lake blue painted metal frame with silver knobs and buttons. A pearly white silk cord and plug dangled in the air. The weird thing about the time piece was it was numbered from one to thirteen and both hands were on the thirteen.

"Happy death day, Myrtle!" James said. "I knew you would be prefect for my gift."

"What am I going to do with that?" Myrtle asked on the verge of tears.

"Take it."

"I can't pick it up. I'm a ghost!" she sobbed.

"You didn't past through me," he reminded her. "Take it."

Myrtle reached out and took the alarm clock. She could actually touch it! It felt cool and smooth ; two things she wasn't suppose to be able to feel.

"Happy death day and good luck." James disappeared.

The clock suddenly came to life with a harsh, metallic ring. The arms of the clock began to spin rapidly counter-clockwise. To Myrtle's disbelief, she saw Rose run backward into the bathroom and started to talk to another Myrtle. Myrtle watch in fascination as Rose and the other her went through everything that had happen that night backward. As time sped backward, Myrtle saw events and people she hadn't seen in years: her first meeting with Rose, young Harry Potter and his friends brewing the Polyjuice potion, the Marauders using her bathroom as a safe haven when they were first years trying not to get caught by a teacher. Myrtle though it couldn't get any weirder, but it did.

Appearing from the door, a man dressed in somber robes and a stretcher enter the bathroom. On top of the floating stretcher was a body covered up with a white sheet. Dread ran down Myrtle's invisible spine; she knew who was on the stretcher. The man directed the body to the last stall. With a wave of his wand, the sheet disappeared and the body floated off the stretcher and landed not so nicely on the floor. He walked out.

Then came the crowd of teachers who were alerted about her death, the six year who ran screaming from the bathroom when she found Myrtle's body, the basilisk who eyes killed her, and Tom Riddle opening the Chamber of Secrets. Finally Myrtle saw her fleshly self come out of the stall. Her mortal self was hurriedly walking towards the ghost. Before she could move out of the way, the other Myrtle ran right into her.

For the first time in seventy-five years, Myrtle felt pain. Unbearable pain raced through every inch of her body. Myrtle tried to scream, but no noise would come out. Then her other senses began to act up. The silence of the bathroom rang loudly in her ears like church bells. The dim candle light blinded her. She clutched the alarm clock, crying and praying that the pain would stop. As if the pain could hear her, it was gone. Sobbing Myrtle glanced at the mirror. What she saw cause her to drop the clock. It hit the floor and with a clang, skidded under a stall door.

Reflected in the large mirror was a flushed, pimply girl with brown hair and red rimmed blue eyes hidden behind thick lenses. With trembling hands, she touched her face. She felt the warmth of soft, bumpy flesh.

"This can't be real," she whispered in awe. "I'm alive."

"Are you alright?"

Myrtle turned her head and found a tall, black haired Prefect looking at her with concern.

"Minerva, right?" Yes, I'm fine. Thanks for asking," Myrtle replied in a husky voice.

"Are you sure? Would you like for me to walk you to your common room?"

Myrtle was going to say no, but decided against it. She didn't want to be any where near the bathroom when Tom Riddle showed up and she was possitive that she wouldn't make it to the Ravenclaw girl's dormitories on her own. "Yes, give me a second."

Myrtle took small, carefull steps to the stall that her alarm clock was in. Placing the clock in her robe pocket and joining Minerva, the two girls walked out of the bathroom.

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**This is a little experiment story. I had this in my head for a while and I don't know if I should continue it. Let me know what you think.**

**Till next time, my duckies,**

**The Good Witch of Dark Magic**


	2. The Tragic Ending of Love

**Disclaimer: I do not write fanfiction for a living, just enjoyment. I will not recieve any money for writing this. **

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Chapter 2

_It is not only what we do, but also what we do not do, for which we are accountable._

_- Jean-Bastisle Poquelin _

"Myrtle."

"Five more minutes, mama."

"Myrtle."

Myrtle rolled over, knocking the dark blue cover off the bed and mumbling something about a cake.

"Leave her be, Amora. If she wants to miss breakfast, let her sleep," said Charlotte Simmons, a tall, chubby red head who was standing in the doorway. "Let's go eat before Robert and his crew devour all the food."

Amora glanced at Charlotte. "You go ahead. I'm going to try one more time at waking Myrtle," Amora said.

"You're wasting your time," Charlotte informed Amora before she left for the Great Hall.

Amora poked Myrtle sharply in the arm, but the sleeping girl didn't wake; she just rolled over again. Tired of getting no response, Amora decided to try something a little more extreme compared to her failed attempts. She grabbed a hold of the middle of the mattress and quickly lift it up.

Myrtle was jolted back into the realm of the living when she slammed into the cold, stone floor, head hitting her nightstand. " What the hell?" Myrtle yelped, rubbing her sore head. She could feel a bump forming on her forehead.

"Sorry," Amora said. She grabbed Myrtle under both armpits and pulled the former ghost to her feet. "It was the only thing I could think of that would wake you."

"Next time use the classic bucket and cold water method. It's less painful," Myrtle grumbled. Myrtle glared at the girl, getting her first good look at her human alarm clock. It was Amora Webb; a pretty girl with blue, almond- shaped eyes and sleek hair so dark brown it looked black. Amora was one of the few students who was nice to Myrtle and defended her from Olive's verbal attacks. After receiving her second chance at life, Myrtle was in a very forgiving mood this morning. Also it was nice to see a kind face first thing in morning.

"Amora! It's so good to see you," Myrtle cried, flinging herself at the girl. The smaller girl was startled by Myrtle's hug. Myrtle was usually very grumpy and unfriendly. Amora lost her balance causing both girls to fall.

"I'm glad to see you too," Amora wheezed. Realizing she was suffocating her roommate, Myrtle scrambled to her feet. Amora got to her feet using the bed for support.

"Sorry about that," Myrtle mumbled, blushing.

"We're even now," Amora smiled. "Do you want me to wait for you and we can go to breakfast together?"

"No, I think I'm going to pass on breakfast today. Thanks for waking me. I probably would have miss History of Magic, not like it would matter. Professor Binns would never realize that I was missing." Myrtle noticed Amora perplexed look. "What's wrong?"

Amora shook her head, a gently smile replacing the confused expression. Myrtle was acting strange today. She was being nice and she was talking to Myrtle had always brushed her off with a snotty remark. Amora wanted to know why the sudden change in attitude, but she didn't want to cause this new Myrtle to disappear. So instead she said "Nothing. See ya later."

Left alone, Myrtle picked up her blanket and got back into bed, wrapping herself in it. She sat there staring at what would seem like a normal muggle alarm clock on her nightstand. Myrtle leaned over and picked the clock up. It was still painted a calming shade of blue, silver buttons gleaming in the morning sunlight and smooth silk cord dangling in the air. The only thing that indicated the clock was unordinary was it's thirteen numbers. Did this little machine really send her back in time?

Maybe she had fallen asleep in the bathroom and dreamt the whole thing, but Myrtle doubted that. She wasn't imagitive and creative enough to dream up the whole "being a ghost for seventy-five years" scenario. And if it was all a horrible dream then why could she remember everything that had happen. Most people can't recall their dreams and even if they could, it is only a vague memory.

Concluding she wasn't losing it and the strange occurrence in the bathroom actually happen, Myrtle went back to pondering more about the question that was plaguing her mind. How can a simple clock do what it did? Maybe, she decided, it wasn't the alarm clock, but the gift-giver who gave Myrtle her life changing Death Day present.

Myrtle was almost positive that James wasn't human. She couldn't think of any magical beasts that could take on a human appearance and have powerful magical abilities, but that didn't mean James couldn't be nonhuman. It was nearly impossible for well- trained wizards and witches to perform magic on a ghost. Being able to touch a ghost and not past through him or her was very advance magic; James shouldn't have the skills to do it. There were also James' creepy eyes to consider. Thinking about the boy's animal-like eyes made Myrtle shudder. She would never want to see those eyes peeping out of the shadows at her. Whatever James was, it didn't really matter to Myrtle. She was thankful for his gift and was happy she would never see him again.

"No more thinking about time travel or bizarre teenage boys, Myrtle. It's time to out of bed and start your first day back in the flesh," Myrtle told herself. Myrtle quickly got dress. Grabbing her bag, Myrtle headed for her first class.

The morning classes went too fast much to Myrtle's dismay. After haunting a bathroom for seven decades, Myrtle was thrilled to be able to continue her education and being around kids that were actually her age. While several students slept while the ghostly Professor Binns droned on about Cornelius Agrippa's greatest achievement, his book _De Occulte Philospuia_, Myrtle was busy writing down notes and playing a few rounds of hanged man with Amora. During Charms, she worked diligently at the Tickling Charm. By the end of the period, she had her partner in a giggling heap on the floor, earning ten points for Ravenclaw.

" I didn't know you were so good at Charms," Amora said, joining Myrtle at the Ravenclaw table for lunch. Myrtle was surprised by Amora's action. Myrtle could remember that Amora didn't sit with just one group of friends, but she never sat next to Myrtle willingly . Myrtle didn't feel like talking, but she didn't shoo Amora off. Like a kind red head in a past afterlife, Amora was winning Myrtle's friendship.

"I'm not really," Myrtle confessed, picking up a bowl of potatoes and putting a big helping on her plate. "When Professor Haig said it would be impossible for a talent- less bunch of witches and wizards like us to cast the spell before the end of class, I wanted to prove the prick wrong."

" Myrtle! That's horrible," Amora giggled nervously, glancing at the staff table.

"Well, it's true. Professor Haig is an overbearing, power hungry boar," Myrtle said.

It was difficult for Myrtle not to wolf down her food. One of the many drawbacks of being a ghost is not being able to eat. Myrtle enjoyed all the dishes that were around her. She even had some ice cream, which she disliked ,and found the cool dessert delicious.

"Nothing could ruin this day," the brown haired girl said to Amora. Little did Myrtle knew, she would be proven wrong.

Turning down Amora's invitation of walking around the lake before their next class, Myrtle headed to the dormitory for a nap. Myrtle entered the room and got her second surprise of the day. A little boy with shaggy brown hair and dressed in brown overalls and a green sweater was sitting on the edge of her bed, legs lazily swinging. He was bent over her Transfiguration book, engrossed in the reading. Myrtle attempted to place her bag down quietly so she wouldn't alert the boy of her presence, but the heavy bag slipped out of her hand and landed with a loud thud, sending books, quills, and parchment flying. The boy looked up, familiar wide, black eyes settling on the girl.

"Hi, Myrtle! How's life going?" the boy asked, giving Myrtle a cheerful smile.

"Ja-James? Is that you?" Myrtle gasped.

Yup, it's me. How do you like the old me? Aren't I adorable?" he chirped, clapping his hands in childish glee.

Giving James a glare that could send a rabid dog running in fright, Myrtle joined the excited boy on the bed. Looking him up and down, Myrtle said "You sure are shorter then I remember. Why are you so-"

"Cute?" James interrupted her.

"No. Young," Myrtle frowned.

"Oh, that," James said, losing a bit of cheer. "The bad thing about changing the timeline is you become the age you were."

"James, you were a teenager when I met you last night…err…seventy-five years in the future. You shouldn't even be born yet," Myrtle said, crossing her arms against her chest.

"I sort of age like a phoenix," James explained.

"Phoenix?" Myrtle gave him a questioning look.

"Every fifty years or so, I age to the next life stage; you know, baby, kid, teen, adult, old person. But instead of dying for real, like a phoenix, I'm reborn and go through the cycle again," James informed her.

"How old are you?" Myrtle asked.

"Five."

"Your real age, James."

"I'm on my second cycle. Not too old."

"What are you?"

James placed his hands on his hips. "Can't tell you. I'm already in trouble for making that deal with you-"

Myrtle cut him off. "Deal? What deal?"

"You said you would stop Tom Riddle if I return you to life," James reminded her.

"I did not!"

"I asked you if you were willing to stop Riddle and you said and I quote ""You mean Tom Riddle? Sure, why not. Not only did he kill me and ruin my life, but he destroyed hundred other's lives. It's the least I could do for starting the bastard's career as a Dark lord," James said.

"You little hooligan! You tricked me," Myrtle hissed, thumping James on the back of the head with her hand.

"That hurt," James whimpered, blinking back tears. "You didn't have to hit so hard."

"You're lucky it's the only thing I did. How am I going to stop Tom Riddle," Myrtle exclaimed. "When I was a ghost, I use to ease drop on people when I was bored. So I know a lot about Riddle. He was into the dark arts as a student and he wasn't shabby at them. He had kids calling him Voldemort before he left Hogwarts for Merlin's sakes."

"You're not going to do it all by yourself, silly. You have me to guide and teach you the fine art of dark lord removal," James said in his annoying cheerful voice.

"Do I look reassured," Myrtle growled.

"You worry too much," James said, removing a huge silver pocket watch out of the front pocket of his overalls. Holding it in both tiny hands, James studied it. "In a minute, your going to be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts class."

"What?!" Myrtle threw a bunch of random objects into her bag and ran off to class.

She barely made it in time, final belling ringing when she enter the classroom. Her early good mood was dampen a little when she had to share a book with a disgruntled Slytherian because she grabbed her Divination book by mistake. But the class was still fun. While the teacher was giving a lecture about werewolves, she and Amora passed notes. When class ended and agreeing to save Amora a seat, Myrtle headed for the Great Hall for dinner.

Amora never showed up. This didn't worry Myrtle at first. Amora told Myrtle that she had to return a library book. Amora was know for missing meals because she would end up reading a book. But Myrtle had a funny feeling that was lurking in her stomach, making it churn. She ended up picking at her food.

"What's wrong, Myrtle?" Olive Hornby asked in mock concern. "You're not pigging out like you usually do."

"Bugger off," Myrtle snapped.

"I wonder where Amora is" Myrtle overheard Robin Furr, a second year asked.

"Maybe she's with Professor Hellebore. She's missing too," commented Robert Harris.

"Here comes the professor now and boy, does she look scared," Robin squeaked.

The normally calm and strict Professor Hellebore was running down the middle aisle, pink robes whipping wildly. She was pale as paper, eyes bugling. Hellebore reached the staff table in record time. Gripping the table with trembling hands, the frighten teacher said something to the Headmaster, causing gasps from the female staff and stun murmurs from the male professors. Rising from his seat, Professor Dippet said in a wheezy voice, "Students are to return to their common rooms . Those caught wondering the halls will be punish."

The common room was packed with gossiping students when Myrtle arrived. Not seeing Amora among the crowd, Myrtle went around asking people if they had seen her. Myrtle was disappointed with the results; nobody had seen Amora. Fighting back panic, Myrtle told herself that the room was so pack , Amora could be right next to her and she wouldn't even realize it.

A wave of silence roared across the room as students turned towards the entrance of the common room. Not able to see who had caused the hush of voices, Myrtle push her way towards the front. Professor Lierre, beloved head of Ravenclaw, had his arm around a crying first year. He guided the girl to the middle of the room, leaving a feeling of sorrow and disbelief in the air.

"Everyone," Professor Lierre began, voice low and deep with grief. "I have… some bad news to share with you. Amora Webb…is dead." The first year's sobs became louder and harsher at this.

The commotion started up again. Students shouted questions at the professor, some girls started to cry, others were talking among themselves in stun voices. Myrtle couldn't breathe. A sharp pain caused by sorrow and guilt clawed at her heart. She had a idea of what had killed Amora. If she was right then she was also responsible for the girl's death.

Gesturing with his free hand for everyone to come down, the professor continued. "The Ministry, the other professors and I will be investigating. For your safety, classes will be canceled for the time being. Nobody is to leave the tower. Is this understood?" Numbly everyone nodded their heads.

"Good. Miss Dermot, could you take Jill to her dormitory?"

"Oh, course, Professor," Myrtle said dully taking Jill's hand. She lead the girl through the crowd.

Climbing the stairs, Myrtle cleared her mind of all thoughts. Thinking was not a good option for Myrtle right now. The wrong thought would send her crashing to the ground.

"It-it-it was so horrible," Jill moaned. "She was lying there, eyes wi-wi-wi-wide open in fright ." The girl started into another heart-wrenching sob. Myrtle wanted to take Jill in her arms and cry with the little girl, but she had to be strong for the first year. She would grieve for her new friend later. Myrtle pulled Jill into the room, undressed the girl, and tucked her into bed.

Reaching her own room, Myrtle stumbled to her bed and felled into it. She buried her head into her pillow and wept for Amora and Jill.

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**What do you think? I'm really not sure if I like chapter, but I say that all the time about everything I write so my opinion doesn't count. Anyway, review and tell me what you though. I promise the next chapters will be more exciting. I would also like to thank all my amazing reveiwers for their thoughts and kind words.**

**Until next time,**

**The Good Witch of Dark Magic**


	3. The Odd Trio Unites

**Disclaimer: We all have dreams, but mine will never come true. I don't and never will own the HP universe.**

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Chapter Three

_Don't watch the clock. Do what it does. Keep going._

_- Sam Levenson_

After two weeks of investigating, the coroner and the five healers from St. Mungo's declared Amora Webb's death a unfortunate freak accident in spite of the protest from the professors. The Minister of Magic came to the school the following night after the case was closed to reassured the students that there was nothing to worry about. Hogwarts was safe he told them during dinner. No evil creature was lurking in the shadows looking for a student to gobble up. But nobody, not even the staff, believed the Minister. Hogwarts, home to young witches and wizards for centuries, had became an unfamiliar and terrify place.

Frustrated due to the ministry's lack of concern and worried about the safety of the students, Professors Lierre, Hellebore, and Dumbledore approached and convinced the headmaster to change the rules to protect the students. Nobody was allowed to go anywhere in the castle without another student or teacher. Breaks between classes were eliminated and curfew was moved to an half an hour after dinner. Two teachers would monitor the hallways at night, watching for any suspicious activities. All the students followed these rules without questions or complaints. In fact, they followed them a little too well. Like a herd of sheep, huge groups of students slowly traveled through the halls from class to class. They would rush to their common rooms after dinner so they wouldn't be the last person in the hallways. Nobody, not even the reckless troublemakers, dare walk the corridors after dark.

Classes were unruly and unproductive. Scared and nervous students couldn't focused on their lessons. Teachers, tired and stressed out, dealt with their classes in two different ways. Some teachers, like Professor Lierre, allowed their students get away with many offenses. Others, like Professor Haig, kept their students in consent fear. The littlest things would send them in a fury.

Rumors rapidly spread around the school. Everyone wanted to know what really happened to Amora. Was she killed by a vicious beast, murdered by someone, or committed suicide? Nobody knew. It was also whispered in every common room that Hogwarts was going to be closed down. This rumor seemed very believable. Concern parents bombarded Professor Dippet with letters and howlers asking the headmaster about the attacks or telling him that they are pulling their child out of school. Everyday, more and more students returned home. The fate of Hogwarts didn't look good.

xxxxxx

Observing the aftermath of Amora's death, James was fed up with the mortals that lived at Hogwarts. Hogwarts has always been James' favorite place to visit when he received a day off from his duties. Unnoticed, he would watch the students and the teachers go about their lives as if they were performers putting on a play just for his amusement. James was entertained by the petty fights, grand adventures, the crushing disappointments, and happy times that both young and old had experience at Hogwarts. But that was gone because of one girl.

James could understand how the idea of dying could scare everyone. He was once human himself and just like every mortal, wanted to live forever. However he wasn't a coward like them, letting terror control how he lived his life.

There was also something else that irked James about the whole situation. When Myrtle was the one slain by the basilisk, her death wasn't mourned or taken seriously like Amora's. Myrtle was found twenty-four hours later by a sixth year who wanted to use the stall. The idiotic girl didn't noticed Myrtle laying on the floor until she stepped on the corpse. Instead of sending everyone to their common rooms to be told the tragic news, Headmaster Dippet causally informed everyone about Myrtle's death during lunch like it was an announcement for Quidditch try-outs. A brief and poorly conducted investigation was performed, ruling the former ghost's death an accident to hide the fact that nobody knew what killed her. After the investigate, everything pretty much went back to normal. People were still scared for their lives and Hogwarts was threaten to be shut down, but nobody, expect for her family and a few others, gave a rat's ass about Myrtle.

Thinking about Myrtle, James wondered how he could get the old grumpy Myrtle back. The girl had taken her new friend's death badly, blaming herself for the murder. She had become lifeless: walking around in a daze, not aware about anything that happens around her. Myrtle was making zombies seem energetic.

He needed to help Myrtle grieve and sort out her feelings quickly because time was running out. Tom Riddle was going to strike again in a couple of days and if Myrtle doesn't foil his plans, everything James had worked for would go to waste. Their pact will end and James will have to kill Myrtle.

xxxxxx

James found Myrtle staring dully out the window in her empty dorm. Taking a seat next to her on the bed, James crossed his arms against his chest. If Myrtle knew he was there, she didn't show it.

"Myrtle?" the little boy said softly. The brown haired girl didn't answer him.

"You know," James said, swinging his small legs. "It's okay to be sad, but you can't let it keep you from living your life. Amora wouldn't want you moping around. She would want you to be happy."

Not receiving a reaction to his words, James jumped off the bed and walked over to the window. James sighed with impatient. He needed fast results. Reasoning with the girl wasn't going to do the job. There most be a quicker way to get the old Myrtle back, but James couldn't think of anything at the moment. Staring out the window, not noticing the beautiful sunset, James thought and thought and thought. Then it came to him. Everyone mourned differently: some cry, some tell jokes, some get angry, some pretend nothing is wrong. A little violent tantrum should get Myrtle out of her depression. He might get hurt, but it should be worth it…he hoped.

Taking a deep breath, James made his face a mask of indifferent and leaned lazily against the wall. "You know what, Myrtle?" He began. "I tried, but I can't figure out how you could be so upset over an useless human being." James glanced over and was giddy with excitement to see her tense up, hands gripping the blanket tightly. It looked like she didn't need a lot of push her to blow up.

Fighting to keep his happiness in check, James continued. "You should forget the wench. Now that's she is gone, you have nothing to worry about. Riddle had his fun. You can have the life you always dreamed of."

"How can you be so happy that she's dead?" Myrtle demeaned, glossiness in her eye melting away to reveal hurt and rage. Bolting to her feet, she grabbed James by the shirt and lifted the struggling boy up.

"Let me go," James growled fiercely.

Ignoring him, she shook him. "How can you view her death as a good thing? Why can't you understand what her death will do to everyone…and me," Myrtle shouted, tears of guilt flowing down her cheeks. "I should have been the one to die, not her. She didn't deserve to die."

"Are you telling me that you are the worthless one, Myrtle? That your life doesn't matter?" James wheedled, looking Myrtle dead in the eye.

Myrtle couldn't pull her eyes away from the boy's wide black ones. Her sorrow was slipping away as calmness replaced the grief. "What are you doing?" she hissed.

" Ridding your soul of these annoying emotions so I can speak to a sane person," he said. "Answer me, Myrtle. Is Amora's life worth more then yours?"

With no hesitation, Myrtle answered," Yes."

"Why?"

"She's a better person then I will ever be. Amora has so much to offer the world. Compared to her, I'm nothing," she said. Her body was shaking violently.

"Relax or you're going to collapse," James commanded sternly. Myrtle dropped him and slumped against the wall. Cradling her head in her trembling hand, Myrtle began sob. James went to the sobbing girl and cuddled against her.

"Not what I expected, but it still works," he muttered to himself.

"I-I-I-I-"

"Myrtle, it's not your fault," James said.

"Yes it-it-it is," she sobbed, looking at him. Taking a yellow hankie out of his pocket, James gently wiped Myrtle's face with care.

"There are two people to blame and your not one of them."

"Who should I blame then?"

"Tom Riddle… and me." James looked away.

Myrtle shook her head in disbelief. "You?"

"Yes me. I sent you back in time without telling you the risks. I knew someone had to die to take your place," James answered truthfully, stuffing the handkerchief into his pocket. He rose to his feet and stretched his aching body.

"Why did you do it?" Myrtle asked him, wiping her runny nose with her sleeve.

Large, black eyes meet watery, blue ones. "I didn't like how the future unfolded. You're the only one who could equal Riddle in power and defeat him without the cost of some many lives."

"Me?" Myrtle laughed bitterly. You got the wrong person."

"No, I don't. You have potential to be a great witch, Myrtle. You just have some minor faults that keep you from being the best."

Rubbing her swollen, red-rimmed eyes, Myrtle got unsteadily to her feet. She went to her trunk to find a clean uniform to wear. Pulling out a skirt, she said," What happens to a person when they die and don't become a ghost?"

"Can't tell you that, but I swear on Atropus' scissors that Amora is moving onto greater things," James said kindly.

Wiping a stray tear from her face, Myrtle said, "Life blows."

"Not all the time," James remained her. "So what's the game plan? Tom is going to cause some trouble very soon."

"What kind of trouble?"

James rolled his eyes. "You have to do most of the work by yourself. That was the deal. Besides, you already have a good idea what it is. Just think about it."

"Okay," she said, taking off her pajamas. To give her some privates, James picked up a book that was laying on the floor and read it.

When she was finished putting on her uniform, Myrtle said, "Let's go, James."

"Where to?" James chirped.

"Headmaster's office. I have something to do before I can focus on Tom."

"Right behind ya."

James waited for Myrtle to leave the room before he skipped over to the nightstand by Myrtle's bed. Opening the drawer, he took out the alarm clock. The once pretty clock was badly damaged. It's face was cracked, the frame was dented in several places with blue paint flaking off, and the silk cord was missing.

"She beat you good," James murmured, stroking the ruin clock. The clock wiggling in his hands, ringing weakly.

"I promise next time you return to this realm you can be a grandfather clock. Now, run along now and say hi to Lachersis for me." The alarm clock gave a metallic chirp and disappeared. Whistling, James ran to catch up with Myrtle.

99999

"That's a interesting idea, Miss Dermot," Professor Dippet said. "However I believe at this time it isn't a practical thing we can do."

Restraining herself from banging her head on the headmaster's desk, Myrtle shifted in her chair. She had been at the headmaster's office for an hour, struggling to convince Professor Dippet to allow a memorial service for Amora to be held and she hadn't gotten nowhere. When she first had arrived, Myrtle spent forty-five minutes presuving the feeble wizard that she didn't walk here alone ( she did actually do just that) and still got chastise for being out after curfew. She just wanted to have a memorial service and the headmaster was being difficult.

"Professor, countless of students admired and loved Amora. This would give them a change to say good-bye and help them grieve," she reasoned with him.

"All good points, but with all that has happen, I think that the students are not ready to face the fact that Miss Webb is never coming back."

"You just don't want to planned the event, you lazy ,insensitive prick," James said, jumping onto the headmaster's desk and making moose antlers with his hands, stuck his tongue at Professor Dippet. Covering her mouth with her hand, Myrtle masked her giggles as coughing.

"Are you alright?" Professor Dippet asked her in concern.

"Yes," Myrtle replied. "Professor, I am willing to arrange the whole thing if I have your approval."

"I could help Myrtle, Professor," said someone behind Myrtle. Turning in her seat, Myrtle saw the person she hated most in the universe was only a few feet from her.

"I have a sudden urge to kick Riddle in the balls. Do you think you'll get blamed for it?" James inquired, eyeballing the handsome prefect.

"Don't you dare," Myrtle muttered under her breath as Tom sat down. James shrugged his shoulder and took a seat on the desk, legs dangling over the edge. Myrtle was surprise to see a worried look on the boy's usually calm face. Unconsciously Tom started to fidget and his hand was tugging on his sleeve. In the future, this boy will kill hundreds of people in the name of purity of blood. It was strange to see him acting like a normal, nervous teenager.

"Ah, Tom. I have been expecting you. Give me a few more minutes with Miss Dermot and then we can talk about your letter," Professor Dippet said, picking up the letter and placing it back on his desk.

"Sir, I know it's none of my business, but I agree with Myrtle," Tom said, giving Myrtle a nod. " Everyone is so wrapped up in their sorrow that nobody knows what to do anymore and nothing is getting accomplished. Exams are almost upon us and nobody has even started to prepare. Having this memorial service could be a great way for students and teachers express their sadness in a positive way. And like I said before, I could help Myrtle plan it."

Myrtle sat there in disbelief. Tom Riddle wanted to help her arranged a memorial service for someone he killed. Myrtle narrowed her eyes at the prefect. Myrtle would bet her life that he wasn't remorseful for attacking students and murdering one of them. He was up to something, but what?

Professor Dippet leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on his stomach. "Hmmm…you do have a point, my boy. Alright, you can have the memorial service, however it's your two responsibility to have everything organized by…" Professor summoned a calendar with a flick of his wand and studied it. "June twenty-second."

"Maybe I'll kick the headmaster where the sun don't shine instead of Riddle. You been begging the man to allow you to have the memorial service and Tom just waltz right in and Professor Dippet is all for it," James complained. "Well, fu-"

Myrtle kicked the desk hard, pitching James head first off the desk. "Sorry about that, Sir. My leg was falling asleep," Myrtle said.

"No harm done, Miss Dermot. If you just wait outside, I'll have Professor Slughorn walk you back to the Ravenclaw tower," said the headmaster.

"Goodnight, sir…Tom." Myrtle with a pouting James left the office and down the stair, not waiting for the head of Slytherin to escort her.

"What's your deal? They can't see me," James complained as they walked down the dim hallway.

"Yeah, but they can see me. If you do something stupid who do you think they're going to blame?" Myrtle snapped.

James replied by sticking his tongue out. Not in the mood to deal with James' childish behavior, Myrtle decided to change the subject . "That was weird," Myrtle mused.

"What was weird?" James asked, still sulking.

"Tom. He seemed so-so-so normal. And what's up with him wanting to help me?"

"I don't know what's he trying to achieve with the memorial service, but I do know something about the letter. Even if is he is one messed-up dude, he still is at the present human. He's afraid that Professor Dippet won't let him stay at Hogwarts over the summer. Of course, his worst fear will come true. Because of his pet snake, it wouldn't be safe for him to spend the summer at Hogwarts," James said, clapping his hands gleefully.

"You mean the letter…"

"Yup. Tom wrote a tear- jerking letter to the headmaster pleading to let him live at Hogwarts."

"What about his parents? Why wouldn't he want to go home?" Myrtle asked.

James sobered up at her questions. "His mother is dead and his father doesn't even know he exists."

"Oh, how sad," Myrtle said.

"You're going soft on me, are you?" the little boy accused, stopping and placing his hands on his hips.

"No, of course- Do you hear that?"

James listened. "Sounds like footsteps."

"Oh, no! There's no place to hide," Myrtle said, fighting back panic. She couldn't work on the memorial service if she was in detention for the rest of the year.

"Confront whoever is coming," James said.

"Are you crazy? It could be a teacher!"

"Have a little faith in me, Myrtle."

Before Myrtle could retort or think of something to hide herself, the person who was making the footsteps came into view. Inching slowly towards the staircase that plunged down into the dungeon was a boy. He was shockingly huge both in width and height. His black eyes shone with unease and determination in the torchlight.

"What are you doing here?" Myrtle found herself asking.

The boy froze, looking guiltily at the girl. "Nothin'"

"You shouldn't be out after curfew," Mytrle told him. "It's dangerous."

" What 'bout you?" the boy said. D'yeh have a reason fer bein' out?"

"I was just at the headmaster's office. Come on, you can walk me back to my common room," Myrtle said linking arms with the protesting boy and pulling him away from the entrance to the dungeon.

"I'll leave you two love bird alone," James said, winking at Myrtle. He disappeared in a blink of an eye. Myrtle decided that the next time she saw the strange little boy, she was going to give him a good thump on the head.

They walked in silence, Myrtle pondering and the large boy sulking. The black haired boy looked familiar, but Myrtle couldn't recall his name. Why was he tip-toeing around the school at night Myrtle wondered. Maybe he was one of Riddle's goons? Myrtle spotted the Gryffindor crest on the boy's robes, throwing out her theory.

"What's you name?" Myrtle asked her reluctant companion.

"Hagrid," he grumbled.

The name clicked in her mind, bringing froth memories from a past life. Hagrid was a third year Gryffindor student when Myrtle died and was expelled at the end of this school year. For what, Myrtle couldn't remember. What she did recall was he was allowed to stay at Hogwarts and became the school's groundkeeper and keeper of the keys. Myrtle had a weird feeling that she was forgetting something important about the boy.

"Myrtle? Hagrid? What are you two doing out so late?"

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," Hagrid greeted Professor Dumbledore, a smile on his face. Unlike Myrtle who was freaking out, he was calm and seemed happy to the auburn haired man. " We were…"

"Coming from Professor Dippet's office. We approached the headmaster about a memorial service for Amora," Myrtle finished for him.

Professor studied the two students with his twinkling blue eyes. Whether he believed them or not, Mytrle didn't know, but he returned Hagrid's smile. "What an excellent idea. What did Professor Dippet say?"

"He agreed as long as we did all the planning and setting up. Tom Riddle is also helping out." Myrtle said.

Professor Dumbledore had a thoughtful expression on his face. "It's pleases me to see three fine students taking an interest in their school and those who attend it. If you need any help with anything, come see me," Professor Dumbledore said. "And now I think it's time you two got to bed." Professor Dumbledore escorted the two students to their common rooms.

* * *

**Not much to say about this chapter, expected that it was a pain to write, but still fun to write. There is actually a plot coming together now. - What will happen, not even I know. Reviews are amazing and makes this writer happy. So reveiw.**

**Until next time,**

**The Good Witch of Dark Magic**


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